


Silent

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Hand Jobs, Inline with canon, Licking, Love Confessions, M/M, Quiet Sex, Reunion Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sleeping Bag Sex, Sleeping Together, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3063455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gokudera turns to Yamamoto, fixes him with the best glare he can manage. 'You didn’t bring a sleeping bag, did you?'" Yamamoto brings himself but not a sleeping bag to Shimon Island, and Gokudera is self-sacrificing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent

Gokudera waits to bring it up as long as he can.

It takes some restraint. The problem seems obvious to him, as clear as the solution that immediately presented itself, but he needs to delay, to make it seem like it’s only just occurred to him when it’s too late for anyone to suggest a different answer. By the time the fire is dying down to glowing embers and Lambo has fallen asleep against Tsuna’s knee Gokudera’s wound so tight he can barely sit still, even aside from the frenetic energy coursing through him just from Yamamoto’s presence.

“I’m exhausted,” Tsuna says,  _finally_ , and that’s it, that’s the opportunity Gokudera’s been waiting for.

“Me too,” he jumps in, a little too fast and a little too enthusiastically, but hopefully Tsuna is too tired and Yamamoto too oblivious to notice. “We should get some sleep!” Then, after a delay long enough for plausibility but short enough that no one else can speak yet: “Wait.” He turns to Yamamoto, fixes him with the best glare he can manage. It’s hard -- he’s been trying to avoid looking at him straight-on to keep control over the flickering adrenaline in his blood -- and now he’s trying to muster a frown when all he wants to do is smile. “You didn’t bring a sleeping bag, did you?”

Yamamoto is staring right back at him, gazing at Gokudera with the drifting softness that’s been clear on his face ever since they sat down. It’s distracting, it’s  _absolutely_  not helpful, and it takes him what feels like several seconds of hesitation before he blinks, and smiles apologetically, and says “Ah. No, I didn’t bring anything.”

“Baseball idiot,” Gokudera growls, and he has to look away, he can’t keep his composure with Yamamoto’s smile right there within reach. “It’s okay, Tenth!” Tsuna is blinking at him but he doesn’t look suspicious, just faintly curious and a little lost. Maybe Gokudera’s doing a better job at selling this than he expected. “You need to get your rest. I’ll share with him.”

“I don’t mind --” Tsuna starts, but Gokudera cuts him off immediately.

“No, you shouldn’t have to suffer because someone else was an idiot.” He cuts his eyes sideways, attempting a glare, but if his act is fooling Tsuna it’s not working on Yamamoto. He’s watching Gokudera with his whole face lit up like Christmas morning and he’s going to ruin the charade if Tsuna so much as  _glances_  at him. Gokudera looks away fast. “I’ll deal with it.” He straightens his shoulders, tosses his hair back from his face. “It’s part of my responsibility as your right-hand man!”

“Gokudera--” Tsuna starts, but it’s Yamamoto’s laugh that cuts him off, bright and clear and sincere.

“Are you still saying that, Gokudera?” He leans in closer, throws an arm around Gokudera’s shoulders and leans in like they’re sharing a secret. Gokudera can’t help but look at him after this casual invasion of his space, but Yamamoto is too close, now, his smile is warm and his eyes are soft and  _god_  it’s too much, Gokudera’s going to kiss him or cry or both in a second.

“Get  _off_  me,” he snaps instead, looking away and pushing weakly at Yamamoto’s shoulder. That just makes the other boy laugh “Come on, Gokudera, don’t be like that,” and for a minute they’re caught in the usual half-feigned scuffle, Gokudera pushing at Yamamoto’s shoulder and Yamamoto reaching for casual contact and Gokudera’s losing his balance, he’s starting to fall backwards when Tsuna speaks.

“Just try not to kill each other, okay?” When Gokudera looks at him Tsuna is smiling, or at least starts smiling before he’s caught by a yawn. “I’m just exhausted, is all.”

“Of course,” Gokudera blurts, pushing up and away so he can regain some edge of composure. “Goodnight, Tenth!”

“Night, Tsuna!” Yamamoto echoes from alongside him. Tsuna smiles, covers his mouth for another yawn, and collects Lambo before turning away towards the pale rectangle of his sleeping bag.

Gokudera doesn’t look at Yamamoto when he huffs a sigh. “We should sleep too, baseball idiot. Aren’t you supposed to be recovering?”

“I feel fine,” Yamamoto insists, but when Gokudera growls disagreement and moves towards his -- their -- sleeping bag, the other boy is following hard on his heels. He looks back as he sits at the edge to take his shoes off and Yamamoto is right there, his eyes flickering to Gokudera’s mouth and his fingers catching the very edge of Gokudera’s sleeve.

“Be quiet,” Gokudera snaps, loud enough that it will carry over the short distance to where Tsuna is lying. “The Tenth is sleeping.” It’s deliberately ambiguous, truth for Tsuna’s benefit but implication for Yamamoto’s. For a moment Yamamoto looks perplexed; then his expression clears, he nods in silent understanding, and Gokudera turns back away so he can pull his shoes off and take off his jacket. He’s had enough time to think about the situation, contemplated excuses and benefits both, so even if his hands shake as he undoes the button on his jeans and strips down to boxers he doesn’t hesitate.

He’s ready with an explanation as he tugs his jeans off, tosses them to land atop his shoes before he turns back to the sleeping bag and Yamamoto both. He has a growl poised on his tongue, hissed commentary about comfort and the importance of rest and a suggestion about following his example, perhaps, but then he sees Yamamoto’s expression and the bottom drops out of his thoughts. Yamamoto is staring at him -- at his legs, more precisely -- his lips parted on a silent note of surprise or appreciation or both and his eyes soft with consideration, like he’s only just now dealing with the implications of fitting together into a bed truly intended for a single person.

Gokudera can feel his blush wash out over his cheeks, across his entire face and down into his shoulders while Yamamoto is still staring at his skin like it’s some unbelievable treasure. He’s never been self-conscious about his body before, but he is now, flushing and starting to shake like Yamamoto’s a stranger, like the other boy hasn’t seen this and more before.

“Hurry up,” Gokudera snaps, and then he’s dragging back the top of the sleeping bag, sliding inside and pulling the cover up with more alacrity than he originally intended. Yamamoto doesn’t blink until Gokudera’s covered again -- then he looks back down at his own clothes, starts to strip his shoes and pants off with as much speed as if he can make up for his delay. His movements are clumsy, fumbling with haste until Gokudera thinks he may actually topple over, but they’re effective too; it’s less than a minute before Yamamoto is turning back, his features cast into gold by the fading light of the fire and his eyes dark as the shadows around them.

Gokudera swallows, slides back against the seam of the sleeping bag and holds the edge open in invitation. “Come on” but he didn’t need to speak, Yamamoto is folding himself into the offered space and sliding the long line of his legs under the cover and there really  _isn’t_  space, they’re already so close Gokudera can feel the radiance of Yamamoto’s skin near his. He doesn’t move, stays perfectly still while Yamamoto fits himself into place, and maybe he shouldn’t have held the bag open because now they’re face-to-face instead of at some safer remove but he doesn’t care, this is exactly what he’s been wanting for the last several hours. Gokudera takes a breath, and Yamamoto sighs an exhale, and Gokudera lets the edge go so it falls over them both and he can bring his hands in to curl against his own chest.

They are  _very_  close. Gokudera has thought about this, has contemplated the proximity and the low light and the quiet, but it’s different in reality, with everything breathless with what feels like anticipation in his veins and Yamamoto’s eyes night-black in the moonlight and the dying embers. The other boy’s mouth is still open, he’s breathing hard enough Gokudera can feel the pace of his inhales against his lips, and he’s staring like he’s never going to blink again, like Gokudera has expanded to fill his entire world. And Gokudera is so near, his knee is bumping the bare skin of Yamamoto’s thigh and his own breathing is pulling warm from the other boy’s mouth, and he uncurls his fingers and reaches out to wrap them into fists of Yamamoto’s shirt.

“You  _idiot_ ,” he hisses, sharp but quiet so the sound won’t carry over the fire. “I thought you were going to  _die_.”

“Gokudera--” Yamamoto starts, and it’s very soft and impossibly gentle and Gokudera growls wordless protest.

“ _Shut up_.” He looks down at Yamamoto’s mouth and that might have been a mistake, the temptation burns all through him and jerks his hands to pull their bodies even closer, but he has things to  _say_ , still. “Be  _quiet_ , you’ll wake the others.”

“But--”

“Just  _listen_.” Gokudera drags his gaze up, fixes the best glare he can muster at the shadowed dark of Yamamoto’s eyes. “I was  _so worried_ ” is almost right but that’s not enough, it’s true but “I thought you were dying” comes closer, tastes more true on his tongue. Gokudera is hissing the words, speaking in such an undertone he can barely hear his voice himself, but Yamamoto is staring at him in wide-eyed attention so he knows the only person that matters is listening. He rocks in, presses his leg up against the warm  _alive_  of Yamamoto’s skin, keeps talking in that desperate whisper.

“They wouldn’t let me see you and I thought I would come back and you would be  _gone_ , I thought--” Gokudera’s voice skids high, starts to crack, and he has to shut his mouth and press his lips together until he can control his tone and his volume again.

“I wasn’t ready to lose you like that,” he finally manages, his throat still tensing around the words but his volume steady. “I have things to tell you, things to  _say_ , still, and I thought I wasn’t going to--” His breathing catches again, panic and remembered grief burning through him together, and he has to shut his eyes, has to drag Yamamoto in so he can press his forehead to the other boy’s shirt and breathe in the comfort of Yamamoto’s familiar scent, clear and rich like rain on dusty ground.

“You mean so much to me,” he finishes, his eyes pressed shut and whispering so soft he isn’t sure Yamamoto hears him, at first. Even those words aren’t enough, don’t fit around the endless cold that took Gokudera when he realized what he could lose; they lack the depth of the shaky relief that has had him since Yamamoto’s miraculous reappearance. But it’s the best he can manage, that whispered euphemism against the heat of the other’s body, and after what feels like days of waiting Yamamoto’s shoulder shifts, his fingers brush Gokudera’s waist through his shirt.

“Gokudera--” he starts, and Gokudera lifts his head, looks up fast and sharp and aggressive with the burn of embarrassment and emotion in his veins.

“ _Don’t talk_ ,” Gokudera growls, partially because of their neighbors and mostly because he doesn’t want to hear it, he doesn’t think he can bear to hear words that come any closer to the point than his own oblique phrasing. Yamamoto’s brow furrows, his mouth forming into a pout of confusion around whatever it is Gokudera won’t let him say. Gokudera can all but see the words on his lips, the need to reciprocate creasing his forehead and darkening his eyes. Then his mouth eases, his expression relaxes into acceptance, and Gokudera knows straight through his body what his response will be, well before Yamamoto blinks and refocuses his gaze on the other boy’s mouth. His head is tipped very slightly down, Gokudera’s is just up, and Gokudera still has his fistfuls of shirt to match the delicate brush of fingers at his waist. It’s too dark to make out the fine details of Yamamoto’s expression -- the soft at his lips, say, or the melting unfocus of his gaze -- but Gokudera knows they’re there, too, even before Yamamoto takes a quick little inhale and leans in. Gokudera is already shutting his eyes, parting his lips into more softness than his usual frown can offer, and when Yamamoto’s mouth touches his their lips align, press gentle against each other, and for a minute Gokudera is lost in the first rush of nostalgic adrenaline.

He didn’t think he’d get to feel this again, the soft of Yamamoto’s mouth on his and the little hiccup of an inhale Yamamoto always takes as their lips come together. He had pushed that frightened loss away, locked it down where he didn’t have to think about it but it’s not staying there anymore, it’s sweeping out over him and closing up his throat with tears only now that the threat is past. Yamamoto’s fingers slip in against the small of his back, spread out to draw Gokudera in closer, and Gokudera’s arms are pinned between them and holding them apart but that’s okay, he’s tasting the edge of Yamamoto’s mouth and they’re both arching in against each other until the sleeping bag is a perfect fit for the both of them. Yamamoto’s free hand pushes against Gokudera’s hip, his fingers fit into the gap of Gokudera’s waist, and that’s a good enough idea that Gokudera lets one of his hands go so he can reach down and push the hem of Yamamoto’s shirt up off his skin. Yamamoto doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even shudder in response; he pushes in, shifts himself impossibly closer, and their legs are catching together and the boxers aren’t doing much to keep them covered and Gokudera doesn’t care. Everything is warm and alive and  _here_ , Yamamoto’s shirt is giving way to the upward slide of his hand and he can feel the other boy’s breathing in the shift of his shoulders, and when he rocks forward Yamamoto’s breath hitches and Gokudera’s heart skips and he nearly forgets to be quiet for a moment. He actually has his mouth open, a whimper caught in his throat when he remembers and freezes in a sudden panic. Yamamoto goes still but even then he doesn’t draw back; they just both stop moving as if on a cue, the only sound their too-fast breathing hot in the air until Lambo makes some tiny sleeping mumble, Tsuna sighs in his sleep and turns over, and they both let out a breath of relief against the other’s mouth.

Gokudera’s heart is still pounding audible in his head, adrenaline from heat and fright both blending in his blood, and if he were cooler or calmer he would stop them here, roll away and press his back to Yamamoto’s and try to attempt sleep. But his hand is still pressed against the warmth of Yamamoto’s shoulder, and his leg is slotted between the other boy’s, and when Gokudera blinks Yamamoto is gazing at him with his eyes black and soft in the faint illumination of the moonlight. He looks like he’s made of shadows in the dim lighting, gentle and delicate and soothing, but he feels alive and hot and  _hard_  against Gokudera’s body; when Gokudera shifts his leg Yamamoto’s eyelashes shift, his throat works on a moan so faint it’s nearly lost before Gokudera can hear it, but the heat flushing through Gokudera’s skin is out of all proportion to its volume. Yamamoto draws him in closer by the hand at the other boy’s back, urges their hips in until they’re both pressed up against the other, and Gokudera knows absolutely and unequivocally that he’s not going to even attempt to resist this impulse.

“ _Quiet_ ,” Gokudera breathes into the space between their parted lips, and Yamamoto ducks his head in a nod of assent that bumps his nose against Gokudera’s cheek as the other boy lets his shirt go, slides his hand down to brace Yamamoto’s hip while his other trails down the smooth curve of the other boy’s back. Yamamoto arches in at the friction, like he’s melting in nearer at Gokudera’s touch, and they’re already so close Gokudera can feel every breath Yamamoto takes but he doesn’t protest. He shuts his eyes instead, blocks out the faint distraction of his night-vision in favor of focusing on the increasing rhythm of Yamamoto’s breathing as Gokudera’s fingers push his boxers down off his hip. The clothing drags sideways, catches under Yamamoto’s weight, but Gokudera doesn’t need to get it that far off anyway, just down enough that his fingers can skim sideways and across to the heat of Yamamoto’s cock pressed in against him. His wrist bumps in against his own erection as he moves, and that’s nearly worth hesitating for itself, but Yamamoto is trembling in anticipation and it’s Yamamoto Gokudera wants to touch, so he tips his head in to cover Yamamoto’s mouth with his and angles his hand and closes his fingers in around the shape of the other boy’s length. Yamamoto shivers, whines into the cover of Gokudera’s mouth, and his hand is echoing the other’s motion but Gokudera doesn’t wait. He’s pressing his fingers in closer, tracing out the familiar curve of Yamamoto under his touch, and when he strokes up the quiver of reaction through Yamamoto’s body is just as familiar. Yamamoto doesn’t bother with pushing Gokudera’s clothes even half-off; he just fits his fingers past the elastic, curls callused fingers against Gokudera’s cock, and Gokudera chokes on a silent inhale and has to hesitate for a moment while he collects his composure. Yamamoto pauses for him, tips his head away from their kiss so Gokudera can catch a breath; then they both start moving again, Gokudera stroking up at a quickening pace while Yamamoto traces out over his skin, brushing his fingers over the warm resistance more like he’s feeling out the shape of Gokudera’s body than trying to get him off. Their wrists bump together, hands trying briefly to occupy the same space, and Gokudera lets his hold go for a moment, twists his hand in closer to knock Yamamoto’s fingers away. The other boy’s exhale sounds like an unvoiced protest but with his hand out of the way Gokudera can rock in closer, can take a breath and focus his attention so he can fit himself in against the heat of Yamamoto’s erection, wrap his fingers around them both at once to draw them together. He can’t close his fingers all the way like this, and his stroking is going jerky and uncontrolled, but Yamamoto is rocking forward against his touch and Gokudera can feel every shift of the other’s hips pressing friction up along the underside of his cock. It lacks elegance and they keep catching against each other and stalling out the motion, but the heat off Yamamoto’s body is feeding directly into Gokudera’s blood and he’s certain from the pace of his heartbeat and the rate of Yamamoto’s breathing that they won’t need elegance, under the circumstances.

Then there’s movement, Yamamoto working his hand in between them again, and this time he curls his hand over both of them, brushes his fingers against the flushed sensitivity of their skin, and Gokudera has to open his mouth to keep from hissing aloud at the sensation. His grip offers some attempt at steady stroking and Yamamoto’s fingertips are brushing extra electricity into his blood, and there’s no question, now, that this will take long at all. Gokudera doesn’t even realize he’s imitating Yamamoto, instinctively thrusting forward with his hips; there’s no space for that in his head at the moment. The rippling heat spreading out into his body is enough, that and the absolute importance of staying quiet occupying what self-control he still has; he can’t even manage a proper kiss against Yamamoto’s mouth, is lost to gasping at what oxygen he can manage as his heart pounds faster with anticipation. Yamamoto’s thumb is pressing in against him, stroking just under the head of his cock, and Gokudera keeps expecting him to stop but he’s not, the curl of his palm is brushing over Gokudera and Gokudera’s whole body shudders without warning. He makes a tiny sound on accident before he can close his mouth hard on the moan in his throat, but even that doesn’t so much as take the edge off the satisfaction that is bursting out through his body. His head is pressed in against Yamamoto’s cheek, his mouth shut tight on the sound on his tongue, and it’s only as he comes sticky against Yamamoto’s palm that he realizes he doesn’t have a plan beyond this. There’s no way he’s going to stop now, though; Yamamoto is breathing so hard it might be audible from the other side of the cooling fire, and he’s trembling against Gokudera’s body, and Gokudera can taste the anticipation on his lips. He slides his hand up over both of them once more, jerky and stuttering to draw out the last of his own orgasm, and Yamamoto arches in, takes a breath that is enough warning for Gokudera to lift his head and press his mouth to the other boy’s as he chokes on a breath and comes under Gokudera’s touch. He goes boneless under the influence of pleasure in his blood; his mouth falls open under Gokudera’s, there’s a vibration on Gokudera’s tongue that might be a name and might be a phrase, but either way it’s silenced against his mouth. Yamamoto’s hand tightens for a moment in time with the flutter in his throat; then his hold goes slack and he sighs, heavy and exhausted and pleased. When Gokudera draws back Yamamoto takes a silent breath; Gokudera lets his grip loosen, eases his hand off sticky skin, and Yamamoto huffs an unvoiced laugh and slides his own hand up between them.

“You’re a mess,” Gokudera whispers, like it’s not just as much his fault as Yamamoto’s. Yamamoto doesn’t snap back, just blinks at him as his lips fall into his habitual unconscious smile. He tips his head in, bumps his forehead against Gokudera’s for a moment of contact, and Gokudera is caught between the shiver of warmth from the motion and the lingering heat in his veins until Yamamoto brings his hand to his mouth and licks against the mess on his skin.

Gokudera sucks in a breath of half-formed protest, reaches up to grab Yamamoto’s wrist. “What are you  _doing_?”

Yamamoto blinks at him. “I’m sticky,” he whispers, deliberately pitching his voice low. “I don’t want to get your shirt dirty.”

“But!” Gokudera can’t actually pull apart the logic of that, but he doesn’t let his hold on Yamamoto’s wrist go, even when the other boy ducks his head to lick over his palm again. He slicks his tongue across his skin twice, sucks over one finger, and Gokudera is aware he should probably be stopping him but watching Yamamoto lick his skin clean is too enthralling for him to remember why, exactly, he should. Then Yamamoto slides his hand free of Gokudera’s hold, reaches down to pull his own clothes back into place before he settles his fingers back at the other’s hip.

“I like how you taste,” he murmurs against the corner of Gokudera’s mouth, and Gokudera’s breath catches as the other boy fits their legs together and leans in closer. “And us together too.”

Gokudera splutters protest, reaches up to close his fingers on a handful of Yamamoto’s hair. “You  _pervert_ , shut  _up_.” He leans in before Yamamoto has a chance to respond, presses their mouths together as Yamamoto laughs against his lips. The other boy tastes like salt at Gokudera’s mouth, bitter and sharp until he nearly pulls back, but Yamamoto is opening his mouth wider and Gokudera can’t resist the invitation. The bitter is clinging heavy to Yamamoto’s tongue too, but his mouth is warm and the salt fades as Gokudera licks against him, gives way to the sweet-clean that has always been Yamamoto in Gokudera’s mind. Gokudera has Yamamoto against his tongue and pressed warm against his skin, and the lingering horror of the last few days is easing away from him, giving way to a calm as deep as if Yamamoto’s usual unconcern is bleeding into him.

Gokudera doesn’t pull away before they fall asleep. There’s a risk of Tsuna waking first and calling them out on their position, but he can’t convince himself to let go of Yamamoto again so soon after reclaiming him, and Yamamoto doesn’t seem to mind. It’s easy to relax, with the pattern of Yamamoto breathing steadily against his skin to lull him, and when Gokudera does fall asleep, he’s smiling against Yamamoto’s shoulder.


End file.
